It's Not My Fault
by Myrile
Summary: a random story like many others. written so long ago that I cannot remember what was going through my head. read if you will, it does not take very long.


**AN:** Ok, I have to make a series of stories that I write even though I don't mean to. Except that I can't put Chains in it so yeah… that's still on its own. They seem to keep coming. Anyway this one is… Dumbledore… and Tom Riddle… and don't yell at me… it's not my fault… I just wrote it… I'm not twisted

**Disclaimer:** I don't own it and I'm proud of that… and I'm not making any money off of it.

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**Not Twisted**

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I'm not twisted. What are you talking about? Just because I dream about him? Just because I still have the rope with his blood on it? That doesn't mean a thing. I'm not perverted. Not at all.

Tom was such a beautiful boy when he was a student. So… beautiful. Especially when he was young. His skin was so soft and smooth, so white. And his hair, so dark, almost the same color as his wide, pretty eyes. I found him at the orphanage and I… what? Why are you looking at me like that? I didn't do anything. I'm not twisted.

When he first came to Hogwarts I didn't know what to do. During his sorting he looked right at me and I knew he remembered, remembered me. How could he not. I thought him everything… everything.

I remember his first year so well. He was new, he didn't know anyone. Everyone thought he was some freak. He had no friends. No one cared if he seamed to spend an inordinate amount of time in my office. I used to call him in there almost once a week. He was a perfect angel that year in my class, never did anything wrong. But I still found excuses to give him detention upon detention. And if he was out all night… well trophies take a long time to polish by hand, don't they?

I still remember one night so clearly. He was exhausted when I called him in. I think some of the older boys had been picking on him. His skin was absolutely gleaming, his dripping with sweat all over his body, his eyes were hollow and far away. He was shivering with cold, his arms wrapped around his body. I could see his ribs; see the goose bumps running all the way up his trembling legs. It was the most beautiful sight I have even seen. So young… so soft… What? Stop staring at me like I'm some sort of pervert! I know we're fighting him. I know we're trying to kill him. Christ! Can't you allow an old man a little nostalgia?

His second year he was still attached to me. The second year was the best year. He was perfectly poised on the brink of puberty, perfectly attuned to me, my wants, my demands. His stamina had grown too. Not that a boy can ever keep up with a man. But isn't that the point? He still didn't have any friends, or if he did they weren't the type of friends that care if you come back 3 in the morning sweat soaked and barely able to walk. Or maybe he was just good at hiding it from them. After all, who would believe that I would- What? Oh sorry.

It's wrong in the eyes of the world, I know. And it's wrong in your eyes too. It's the reason he hates me now I think. But I just… can't… help it. I thought I would go mad when I saw him in class, when I wasn't aloud to touch him. Oh no, teachers must never touch students. But in a boarding school… well… there are ways.

In his third year, that's when he began to leave me. Malfoy became his friend and Malfoy started noticing. He spread rumors, that Malfoy boy. He kept Tom away from me. He took my toy away from me. All the more reason to make sure that the younger Malfoy never befriends Potter. He might be an… unhealthy… influence on the boy. Malfoys are always so… independent. Always so… obnoxious.

Harry is so like my Tom. The resemblance is remarkable. Both dark haired, both pale. But Tom's eyes were dark also, not like Harry's. And Harry had friends, real friends that would notice if he was gone. I'm almost thankful for that, otherwise the temptation would have been too great. But I am older now and more able to control my feelings. But my Tom he was so… You know I do see you retching behind that bush!

Why should I care what you think of me? The whole world respects me. Even if Tom were to tell them they wouldn't believe him. You see this is what I like about fame. It lets you be twisted and no one ever finds out.

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**AN: **Well I hope you enjoyed it… strike that, no I don't. Hum… let's critique it now. The writings not as good as I could do, I know that, and neither is the plot but overall I'm happy just because it's out of my head now.


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